


the light ways (so frightening)

by andfinallywearehome



Series: with so many lovers singing soft [2]
Category: Wizards vs Aliens
Genre: F/M, post series 2 as usual, there's fluff and angst in here, this is basically just a companion piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andfinallywearehome/pseuds/andfinallywearehome
Summary: even in the shadows of the early hour, her eyes are wild and bright and so goddamn sad that you almost feel bad about thinking they’re beautiful, that she’s beautiful (almost).(or, the better timeline from the other perspective)





	the light ways (so frightening)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheonewithwheelsASH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonewithwheelsASH/gifts).



> i wasn't going to write a companion piece but tom clarke stared at me with queer judgement until i did. gifted to my friend as well, because why not. i hope they don't get sick of me doing this.
> 
> there's very brief mentions of ptsd-related symptoms in here, just in case. 
> 
>  
> 
> title is from 'twice' by little dragon; i own nothing.

you’re in the middle of telling her about whatever it was your friends were talking about over lunch a few hours ago, swinging her hand as you walk until you realise that she’s staring at you like you’re mad.

_what? what is it?_

she looks down at you clasped hands, and then - silently - raises an eyebrow, as if she’s almost bewildered by the action. like she can't understand why you would do it.

_we hold hands all the time_ , you say.

_there’s usually a reason for it._

you kind of want to laugh a little, let everyone hear the warm glow of fondness in your chest - this is so _her_ , always so rational about everything. it’s kind of endearing - _more_ than kind of.

_do i need a reason?_

_no._ she smiles then, and you feel her grip tighten, ever so slightly. _i suppose not_.

 

//

 

it’s two-thirty-five in the morning and you’re lying in bed looking up at the ceiling, fading in and out of sleep, when your phone lights up with a call.

you can tell right away - even if she’d never admit it - that she’s been crying.

_i’m sorry for waking you._

_i don’t care._

she doesn’t say anything, but you can imagine her face at the other end of the line, brow furrowed in disapproval. your memory isn’t the best, but the sound of the sniffles she’s trying to smother to stop you hearing them, slowly breaking your heart piece by piece, makes you remember being ten years old again, recently without a mother, crying yourself back to sleep over the waves of anxiety threatening to choke you.

_you want to hear about what i did yesterday?_

the tone of her answer is slightly confused, but it’s slightly stronger, and that’s what you wanted - she’s distracted. distraction, as you once learned, can help.

_alright. what did you do?_

you start to talk, a full recount of what had actually been a rather average day at school, not sparing any of the details you can remember. after a while, you can tell by the radio silence at the other end that she’s asleep again, but you stay on the call for a while after, just listening to the soft, even breathing like it might ease your mind too.

you drop by to see her, a few hours later, and the sight of her stood in the doorway could knock the breath from your lungs, not in a good way for once. she looks like she’s been in a fight - in the broadest sense of the word, you think she might have been.

you don’t want to pry, but one day, when the colour of the marks on her face, glaring against her pale skin, match the colour of her shirt - purpling, like a bruise - it just comes out.

_what do you dream about?_

she stiffens, just for a moment, before she straightens her shoulders like she’s forcing herself; when she speaks, there’s a feigned air of nonchalance in her voice.

_um. i don’t remember._

you watch her for a moment as she focuses back on the chopping board in front of her (she’s making pizza from scratch - because you’re staying for dinner and she knows how much you like homemade pizza) and then look away, back down at the spotless counter-top, filing the information away for later.

 

//

 

_i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry._

the sentence falls from her mouth over and over again as she tries to brush back the tears that flush her cheeks, falling faster than she can clear them up. even in the shadows of the early hour, her eyes are wild and bright and so _goddamn sad_ that you almost feel bad about thinking they’re beautiful, that she’s beautiful (almost). you’ve crawled through the window at the top of the fire escape, soaked by the three AM rain (having a car now has advantages, no matter how awful your driving is) and you’re feeling more than a little out of your depth here, but this is also partly your fault in the first place, so you let her lean her head on your shoulder and wrap her arms around you as you whisper back - you’ll say it as many times as she needs to hear it.

_it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay._

 

//

 

apparently, saying it all those times isn’t enough for her to believe it this side of midnight.

she stands in front of you, shakes her head, looks at you like you’re insane for even breathing any kind of word close to _that_ one, the one that gets thrown around too much - maybe you’ve been guilty of that in the past, but not this time. people who save that word save it for moments like this.

_you don’t mean that._

you frown then, because if there’s one thing you’re certain of in the mess that your life has become, it’s the slow burn on fondness that sits in your chest and sparks whenever you see her.

_but i do._

she shakes her head again. _you **don’t** , you - _

_hey._ you reach for her hands then - they’re shaking a little, but her fingers still find the space between yours, like (you think) they were always supposed to. just like before, you’ll say this as many times as she needs to hear it; you won’t ever get tired of saying it. _i mean it. i love you._

she blinks at you for a moment, like she’s still trying to work out whether you’re being genuine, and then her mouth meets yours, and you’re pretty sure you could never be anything but genuine.

 

//

 

the summer bleeds into autumn - her favourite season.

you’re taking a walk through the park, a moment to stop and take in the change in weather on a slow afternoon, and she’s wearing one of your jumpers, a red one that all but swallows her despite her height. it looks good on her - like everything else you’ve accidentally left at her house that mysteriously ends up mixed in with her wardrobe. you’d be a damn fool to ask for it back, no matter how much she complains about how disorganised you are.

_aw, come on_ , you say, and throw her a grin over your shoulder, _you love me_.

she raises an eyebrow - and then the expression settles into something softer, something so inexplicably fond. _i do._

and isn’t that all you need to say, you think, as you find yourself grinning, reaching for her hand again like it’s a lifeline. somewhere along the line you managed to get lucky - because she loves you, and you absolutely, undeniably love, love, _love_ her.


End file.
